After fifty years . . .

Retraced streets evoking Thistle, Seaman’s Neck,

Sweet Hollow, Brush Hollow, Foxhurst, Wolf Hill and

Old Country Road,

Sat happily in traffic while memories seeped in,

Heard exotic names like Titus, Wilmerding and Dolce,

Peered into hardly recognized kind faces,

Friends, almost-friends, and aliens:

Silenced defensive fears.

Learned the names of spouses, children, grandchildren,

Pocketed a sweet souvenir,

A dime-sized angel coin.

Retraced historic Harborfields:

A schoolhouse morphing into a small-town book repository,

Emerging as banqueting rooms for literacy.

Stalked the shadowy high school halls

Trophy cases, the music corridor, the vacant senior lounge

The silent Blue Whale housing bygone musicals.

Across the field the homecoming crowd cheered the team’s

Final march to victory—ten yards too short.

Remembered the friendly passes

Slipping through my fingers at the goal line,

The fumbled relationships in the backfield,

The fourth quarter when punting was a mistake

The whistle that ended our play too soon.

 

Happy for another chance to play . . .

After fifty years.